


One Call Away

by Rainy_Day_Lemonade



Series: Texts Are The New Love Letters [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: 11 can't stop texting, 12 can't text, Aliases, Angst, But he has feelings, But it all falls in line with canon, Dhawan!Master as incarnation directly before Missy, Does that make sense?, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, He's a dodgy dude, Humour, Inappropriate use of the word 'lol', M/M, Moral Ambiguity, One-Shot, Other, Pre-Episode: s12e01 Spyfall Part 1, References to Classic Who, References to Modern Who, Romantic/Platonic tension, Spoilers for Spyfall- episodes 1 and 2, Spoilers for season 12 season finale, Text Buddies, Texting, The Master pretending to be Agent O, The Master's deep-seated feelings for the Doctor, The Master's still pretty dodgy, a little crack-ish?, ambiguous ending, can be read as romantic or platonic, eh, filling in gaps, headcanons, little angsty, lol, please be kind, probably, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23161183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Day_Lemonade/pseuds/Rainy_Day_Lemonade
Summary: He's done it- he's successfully assimilated into human life (again), this time fooling even the Doctor. As far as she's concerned, he's just humble little Agent O: introvert, cryptid-enthusiast, and starry-eyed fan.O has her trust, as an ally and a friend. With every text, every conversation, he lures her further and further into his trap.The Master has her right where he wants her...… Right?Can be read as romantic or platonic. The feelings are strong, none the less.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Texts Are The New Love Letters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698169
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	One Call Away

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to my first Doctor Who fic!  
> This fic takes place sometime between 'Spyfall-Part One' and somewhere during 10's era- since O said he met the Doctor "when he was a man". I'm trying to stay in line with canon, lets see how long it lasts haha.  
> I have a bit of a soft spot for the Master, especially after Missy, so that may leak through... Whoops.  
> Onl  
> Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. Not even one of them.

"First day, is it?"  
Monday morning, 04:30 hours. The train to London was, naturally, quiet, though perhaps more occupied than one would expect. We may never know how many nameless faces took refuge in this dimly lit world, isolated in time and so eerily separate to our own.  
The gentleman in question belonged to no such world, grinning through a tired smile.  
“Am I that obvious?” He chuckled, tugging at his tie. “I want to make a good impression.”  
“No, not at all.” A tap of the nose. “You can say I have a sense for these things… Nervous?”  
“A little.”  
“Only a little? Interesting.”  
Even in the fading twilight, the train compartment stank as all compartments do: coffee, smog, the lingering scent of illegal cigarette smoke. The two lone occupants sat, immersed in it, filling their lungs and entwining their lives.  
“I mean…” The Gentleman coughed, still tugging at his tie, “… Should I be nervous? I mean, I passed the interview, and apparently, I… I did alright?”  
His companion chuckled, retrieving something from the pocket of his coat- one of those new e-cigarettes, the Gentleman assumed.  
“I’m sure they’re very eager to meet you,” hummed the commuter _._ “It’s a shame, really.”  
“A shame?”  
The commuter smiled- grinned in the light of his _companion’s_ fear (as _he_ so often did, back then).  
He wasn’t holding an e-cigarette.  
“That they’re never going to meet you.”

Nights in the desert were always cold, the days filled with relentless heat, no matter the time of year. He'd grown to appreciate the consistency- a travesty of order in his chaotic life, founded on deceit and madness.   
He was... less fond of the snakes.  
His head perked up at vibration of his phone; some metres away in the darkness, it shone like a beacon in the night. Shone like the future of his intricate plan.  
Slowly, the Master began to laugh.  
Only one person had that number. 

**Rory left his glasses in the TARDIS lol. What time should I drop them off?  
You know what, I’ll surprise you lol  
**… Oh God no. No no no no….  
**_Um… Who is Rory?  
_Oh dear. You’re not Pond. Lol. **

The snakes didn’t bother the Master that night. They were too put off by his screaming.

It took time. Time, and several broken plates, tossed into the desert like frisbees. But the Master had calmed down.  
This was fine. It wasn’t what he’d _imagined_ his plan playing out, but this was fine.  
Brushing off the social faux pas, ‘O’ had managed to worm his way into the Doctor’s life- Barely, but undeniably there. He was no closer to learning who that Rory idiot was, but that was of little consequence.  
He was certain he had yet to physically encounter _this_ Doctor. He’d narrowly avoided a nasty paradox ‘running into’ the spiky-haired one (not to mention a paper cut- the man was like a stick insect, all tall and pointy).  
This Doctor was different- he rambled utter nonsense, as they were prone to do. Most sentences were punctuated with a ‘lol’ or smiley cat emoji, messages left unread for hours only to be answered in a flurry of dinging.  
**I’ve always been rather fond of bananas lol. Bananas are good. I’d wear them every day if I could, but Amy says I’d look silly lol. I don’t know what she means, I always look silly. Probably shouldn’t tell her about the celery lol.  
**_Enough about the God damn celery!  
_**_Celery? There must be a story behind that.  
_**The things he'd do for his master plan...

It was a miracle, really, that he stuck with his plan for so long. This Doctor was particularly irritating- rambling, inconsistent and absurd. No topic lasted more than three minutes, no conversation longer than ten. Messages were left on read for days, no excuse or explanation. _Does he even realise I can_ see _he’s read it?  
_It was in those erratic silences that the Master wondered: Why does it bother him so? It’s of little consequence, in relation to his overall plan. The Doctor clearly bought his ruse, if his continued correspondence meant anything.  
_Does it mean something?  
No. Stop._  
He found himself blind to night and day- just sat there in quiet hibernation.  
Eyes closed, mind humming.  
Waiting for the phone to buzz.

And then it did.

 _"Hey, Agent O! The O-man, the… Uh, the… O-dude!"  
_Eyes already covered, he’d prepared himself for another inane bout of nonsense... But, slowly, his hand slipped from his face.  
“Doctor. Are… Are you alright?”  
A staticky whooshing- the TARDIS hand-break, his mind supplied- filled his ears, accompanied by a softer sound. A breathy, unfamiliar sound.  
_Oh._ “Doc… Doctor, are you crying?”  
“Hm?” A sniff, “No, I don’t think so. Am I? Maybe I am… Who’s to say, really?” The Doctor chuckled, the sound wet and broken.  
It sent the Master’s hearts into shock.  
“Do you… Do you want to talk about it?”  
“… Not really.”  
“OK then…” _Think, Master, think!_ “… What do you want to talk about?”  
Another pause. Then, a barely audible whisper:  
“Any interesting research, recently? Have…” Another sniff, “… Have they figured out the Loch Ness Monster yet? Or was that a later century…”  
The laugh this inspired was natural, emotive- that is, to say, terribly out of character. The Master would most certainly deny it in the future... Not that it meant anything.   
“Let me find my notes.”

Little by little, the Doctor opened up.   
It was almost imperceptible... the tiny details, creeping past his goofball façade.  
For it is a façade- the best lies are those with a hint of truth. But the emotions were slipping through- the loneliness... that quiet, aching despair that he knew lingered in his old friend's heart, had known perhaps even longer than _he_ had.  
The dull ache of a murderous martyr.  
They shared this, if only for now: two time-crossed partners in crime.   
That knowledge was... _Invigorating._

The Master never thought he would miss that Doctor's inane ramblings. Then the new one came along.  
**I thought you should know I have regenerated again. I hope we can continue our texting.**  
At first, it was normal enough. Actual punctuation for once (a welcome change) and far fewer cat emojis... But after about two weeks of texting, The Master grew suspicious.   
It seemed like a small thing at first, a tiny blip on the radar. Until it wasn't. Gnawing at his bottom lip, "O" stared at his phone, the problem glaringly clear.  
The _words.  
_Texts from this Doctor were either perfectly spelt, flawless grammar... Or an absolute mess- no commas, no capitals, just _text._ Messages might be quick and succinct, or an endless stream of "I'm terribly sorry, but" blah blah blah.  
He might have brushed it off if one were more consistent that they other, but there was _no clear pattern at all._ The only given was the message's content: I'm well, how are you, not up to much, talk later.  
And he knew what he was doing. Oh yes, the Master was no fool. 

How dare he ~~leave me alone again~~ brush off the _Master?_

**_Hey, so, random question. Are you texting me?_**

_**Or is someone else doing it for you?** _

Five minutes passed in silence. Then:  
**I told him you'd figure it out. Sorry, you know how he is.**

The Master resisted clenching his fists.   
OK. This was good... He was getting answers.   
The speech bubbles reappeared.   
**He won't admit it, but he doesn't know how to.  
_How to... text_**

**How to put his emotions into words. It's hard enough getting him to _say_ what he's feeling. **

**But between you and me, I think he really likes you. He re-reads all your messages, it's**

The message cut off. The speech bubbles didn't come back.   
**_Hello?_**

_**Hello** _

_This is getting ridiculous._ Master plan or not, this wasn't going to work. It was demeaning, ~~and not the slightest bit endearing.~~   
He was trying to manipulate the _Doctor,_ not his latest pet. 

_**Look, I'm not going to do this. Have one-sided conversations with myself, or some random stranger pretending to be you. Send me a message.**_

**_A message ACTUALLY FROM YOU. Or I'll stop._ **

And with that, he turned away from his phone in favour of a glass of scotch. 

The next morning, with an aching head, the Master switched his phone back on. Grimacing in the light of the screen, he squinted at the new message notification.

**¯\\_( ͠° ͟ʖ °͠ )_/¯**

_**What's with the eyebrows?**_

**They're attack eyebrows**

Hand running through his hair, the Master frowned at the screen.   
_**How do I know it's you this time?**_

**Clara doesn't have a sense of humour.**  
**That, and Nardole's rubbish at spelling.**

**_Not really good enough._ **

Nothing. Lips curling, the Master tossed his phone aside, groping around the kitchen for the ibuprofen.   
Stuff it. He'd come up with a new plan. A plan that didn't ~~hurt~~ demean himself in such as way.   
Full of plans, he was. The Master of master plans.   
The phone dinged again.   
"God damn it, what now?"

It was a picture. A selfie.   
The Doctor was obviously inexperienced with the camera, a blurry thumb glaring from the top corner of the screen. His features were washed with a deep orange light, casting strange shadows over his face...  
... But his eyes were soft, crinkled ever so slightly at the edges. He's expression was one of absolute concentration, like he was diffusing a time bomb.   
He looked older, weighed down with all he had seen... Yet it was so intrinsically _him._  
The Master hadn't realised he'd stopped breathing.  
**Is that alright?  
**He bit his lip, still staring into those eyes. How was it that centuries could pass, yet he could retain _those_ _eyes?_

**_It's a start._ **

More and more, the Master found himself absorbed in his narrative. He found himself jogging each and every morning, past rocks and the occasional gum tree, because that's what Agent O would do. Agent O was a competitive athlete in his school days, he wouldn't give up the habit so easily.  
He banished his beloved suits and stripy vests to a far corner of the house, tucked away behind cameo and beige. Agent O was a quiet man, he wouldn't wear something so... so... loud.  
And every now and then, lips soft with nostalgia, he'd flip through his "research" on the Doctor. Dozens of photographs, eye-witness accounts, legal documents, paper work... He could distinguish each regeneration by only their handwriting. Something Agent O would _definitely_ know, of course.   
He lingered on ~~his~~ the current Doctor, a flurry of velvet and black. Curling silver hair, and those _same bright eyes...  
_... Would Agent O think so? The line between spy and Master were blurring. Perhaps Agent O had always been a part of him- a softer, more innocent part from a time long ago. Or perhaps he was an ideal. Hadn't he weaved his character, his eccentricities, for the soul purpose of intriguing the Doctor?  
Hands shaking, he snapped the binder shut. 

  
_It's all for the plan... Only the plan..._

_... Oh, but it isn't, is it?_

Call it fate, or bitter irony, but the Doctor was a woman once again.   
And the Master loved her. Once again.  
(Though he'd never stopped loving his Doctor, his dearest friend).  
**look at this cute dog its adorable  
****i had a dog like that once  
but he was less furry and more... metallic  
dogs are good  
_I've never had a dog. We weren't allowed to have pets back home._  
**This was true- the Citadel didn't allow any creatures without a specific designation. "Pets" were not an option.  
Somehow, the truth made him feel better. Just a little.   
**that's a shame  
dogs are very good**  
**so are frogs actually  
**He'd never admit how much he missed it. The days when they would talk like this, of trivial fancies. The days when he wasn't hiding behind a mask, wasn't biting his tongue with each click of the send button.   
**i like frogs, maybe i should get a pet frog  
it can sleep with me in the control room, keep an eye on my pesky companions  
**He chewed his lip, eyes soft and sad as he sent his reply. **  
_That sounds like a plan._**

"Hi, it's me"  
_I know._  
"I'm at MI6 with C."  
_I know._  
"Crisis. Big crisis. Serious crisis, big serious crisis."  
_I know, I know everything, I KNOW-  
_"C says you were right, he's sorry for being an idiot."  
It was all he could do to bite back his laugh, too close to a dry sob.   
He would not break. Not now, not when everything was finally falling into place, when he was _so close_ to... to...  
"Send us your location. Kisses!"  
  
  


It wasn't hard to act the part- wasn't hard to wear the soft, friendly smiles and reminisce old tales of "the good old days" (the wrong days).   
It wasn't hard to play the part of the friend. The confidant. The ally.   
It was so much harder to reveal the truth.   
"... Oh."  
He grinned, ignoring the way his eyes stung, how his hearts thumped in protest.  
"That's, that's my name! And that's why I chose it..."   
Her face was white, crumbling like sand.   
Crumbling like the ashes of Gallifrey.   
_I'm sorry... So, so...  
_"... So _satisfying."_  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> If you have time, comments and kudos warm my hearts <3 <3


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